Farther on they encountered a strange phenomenon. In the heart of the
desert a fountain rose perpendicularly fifty feet into the air, with a
cool and pleasant hissing sound. It differed, however, from a fountain
in this respect--that the water of which it was composed did not return
to the ground but was absorbed by the atmosphere at the summit. It was
in fact a tall, graceful column of dark green fluid, with a capital of
coiling and twisting vapours.

When they came closer, Maskull perceived that this water column was the
continuation and termination of a flowing brook, which came down from
the direction of the mountains. The explanation of the phenomenon was
evidently that the water at this spot found chemical affinities in the
upper air, and consequently forsook the ground.

"Now let us drink," said Joiwind.

She threw herself unaffectedly at full length on the sand, face
downward, by the side of the brook, and Maskull was not long in
following her example. She refused to quench her thirst until she had
seen him drink. He found the water heavy, but bubbling with gas. He
drank copiously. It affected his palate in a new way--with the purity
and cleanness of water was combined the exhilaration of a sparkling
wine, raising his spirits--but somehow the intoxication brought out his
better nature, and not his lower.

"We call it 'gnawl water'," said Joiwind. "This is not quite pure, as
you can see by the colour. At Poolingdred it is crystal clear. But we
would be ungrateful if we complained. After this you'll find we'll get
along much better."

Maskull now began to realise his environment, as it were for the first
time. All his sense organs started to show him beauties and wonders that
he had not hitherto suspected. The uniform glaring scarlet of the sands
became separated into a score of clearly distinguished shades of red.
The sky was similarly split up into different blues. The radiant heat
of Branchspell he found to affect every part of his body with unequal
intensities. His ears awakened; the atmosphere was full of murmurs, the
sands hummed, even the sun's rays had a sound of their own--a kind of
faint Aeolian harp. Subtle, puzzling perfumes assailed his nostrils. His
palate lingered over the memory of the gnawl water. All the pores of his
skin were tickled and soothed by hitherto unperceived currents of air.
His poigns explored actively the inward nature of everything in his
immediate vicinity. His magn touched